” Her mind went back to that treaty. . "Not a syllable!" answered the carpenter, angrily. "Have you sent off the note?" inquired Jack. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss.
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